


Try Again

by BloodstainedBlonde



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Humour, I suppose, M/M, Tuckington week, obliviousness & miscommunication
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-16
Updated: 2014-12-16
Packaged: 2018-03-01 18:23:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2783102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BloodstainedBlonde/pseuds/BloodstainedBlonde
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wash wasn't oblivious. In fact, he was very good at noticing a very large number of things. Like when Tucker wasn't running laps. Or when he had overslept by a few seconds. Or he'd forgotten to clean his armour. </p><p>Unfortunately, none of those things pertained to what Tucker was trying to do. </p><p>That was fine. Tucker had a plan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Try Again

**Author's Note:**

> warning for the regular nonprogressive language/slurs of rvb
> 
> this is for tuckington week, i spose! an early contribution because idk how busy ill be. 
> 
> read & review, yo

It started how most mornings usually did.

"Tucker, Jesus _Christ_ , if you don’t start wearing clothes to bed I’m going to let it slip that you sleep naked and start inviting Donut over."

Yep, exactly how most mornings started.

Tucker would jump up with a cry and babbled promises about stopping it for _real_ this time, _seriously,_ and he'd hop around trying to drag his clothes on. Wash would shoot him the _dirtiest_ look and turn away because Tucker was jumping about the room naked and failing spectacularly to get his pants on, and eventually the man in question would proceed to drag his blanket in front of his private parts and scoff.

With the threat of Donut fading from his mind, he’d make a snarky comment about "Don’t you like what you see, Wash?" before coming to his senses and kicking him out.

Wash would sigh, roll his eyes and leave the room, Tucker grinning at his back, and the chaotic morning would only just be started.

Over the past few weeks, Tucker had gone to great lengths to forge this routine, and it involved him showing off parts that, alright, he didn’t get to show off much. What could he say, the canyon was full of dudes and none of them were his type. All the not straight ones were taken (not that he was interested in Grif or Simmons _anyway,_ thank you very much) or worse, they were Donut.

All the others were either too old (ew, Sarge), questionable in sanity, (this could apply to _a lot_ of the other soldiers) or plain old straight. (Church, when he’d been there, but like fuck would Tucker ever think about _that,_ the dude was less of a considerable butt buddy and more of a brother.)

And all the hot ones were, well, Wash. Seriously, he was the only guy left that could possibly fit the bill, so Tucker considered it only natural that of  _course_ he would flirt with him a bit, even if he was a total asshole. Maybe not a total asshole. The guy was just doing his best to help them, for fuck's sake, but Tucker wouldn’t admit that in a heartbeat.

Regardless. By process of elimination, Wash was the only one left that Tucker would get with. _Despite_ everybody else’s jokes about him being a total whore.

(Which he was, for the _ladies._ Seriously, _standards_.)

And there was totally not anything beyond the fact that Tucker wanted to sleep with him. And next to him. And run his fingers across Wash's skin and press his mouth against his neck and—

Anyway, what could go wrong? They fought all the time as it was, so it’d probably only spice up their sex life. And Wash didn’t seem a romance kind of guy, so they could just bang a couple times a week and call it that, if that’s what he wanted. Let it not be said that Tucker cared either way. If he was into more of that, Tucker wasn’t afraid to admit he was a cuddler, and Wash seemed like the kind of guy who could use a hug.

And _that_ was putting it lightly.

Seriously, the set up was perfect. Wash just needed to get with it and actually get with _him._

Yet, despite Tucker employing all of his best pick up strategies (see: presenting himself naked at every possible opportunity) Wash wasn’t taking the bait. He just couldn’t understand it. But, he supposed, he was fine with that. Consider it an opportunity to test his skills, flex some mind muscles that hadn't been used in a while, and up his game.

So he exited his room that morning with the absolute sexiest thing he could find, which admittedly wasn't as sexy as he would have preferred, considering that it was an army base. Still, he let the confidence flow threw him, and paused to once over himself in the mirror as he passed.

Yeah, just as he suspected. Looking _pretty_ good.

He was pulling out the big guns. Speaking of…

He poked his head around the doorframe to the kitchen, where he could hear Wash slamming doors and opening them again every few moments.

"Hey, Wash, if you’re looking for the _delicious_ army supplied cereal, I think Caboose hid it."

Alright, that was a total lie. Tucker had done it last night, when he was pissed at Wash so that he could laugh at him in the morning, but he didn’t need to know that. Also so that he could jump in and save the day when Wash couldn’t find it, but Wash didn’t need to know that, either.

Wash paused, and rubbed tersely at his forehead. Aware of Tucker's amused gaze on his back, he stubbornly persisted searching for a few moments, but conceded defeat when it became obvious that he'd looked in every cupboard they had.

"You can't be serious," he muttered, turning to face the grinning man.

"What, about the deliciousness?" Tucker responded. "Are you kidding? Everyone knows that it tastes like shit."

"Tucker."

"Oh. Yeah, I was serious about the rest of it, too. See? Nowhere to, well, be seen."

"I... see that."

"And I thought you were freakily observant," Tucker snickered.

He'd intended the jibe to frustate Wash more, and in a way it did. It also had an unintended effect, moments later, when Wash spun to yell at him and caught Tucker's smug gaze. He narrowed his eyes, the seconds ticking past nervously as he read into Tucker's face, then further into his words. Finally, he nodded as if Tucker had told him something, and span back the way he'd been facing to begin searching the room again.

Tucker spluttered indignantly at his back. 

"Hey, wait— _Wash_ , what are you doing?"

"It's obviously in here somewhere," Wash responded. "I'm sure it's—"

"Oh my god, hold on. I've got it!" Tucker interrupted, before Wash could ruin his plans any further.

Wash turned to raise an eyebrow at him, and on cue, Tucker flashed his best smile and fully entered the room. He brimmed with pleasure and satisfaction when Wash’s eyes dropped to his torso and kept going down, lingering there for the tiniest second before flashing back up to his face.

 _"What_ are you wearing? That's not military regulation!"

"Military _shmilitary_. Today’s… relaxing day. No need for military regulation."

 _"Relaxing day?"_  Wash allowed himself to be side-tracked for a moment.

"Yeah. In honour of, uh… Church’s… memory." When Wash stared at him, uncomprehending, Tucker brushed it off. "Point is, it’s a day for relaxing."

"Where’s your armour? And are those _skinny jeans?_ How did you even get _a hold_ of those—"

"Don’t ask questions," Tucker said flippantly. "Relaxing day means wear whatever you want. And while you might not think it, I’m a skinny jeans kind of guy. Think about _that._ Now move, I’ll get your gross cereal for you."

"I thought you said Caboose hid it."

Tucker shrugged. "I say a lot of things, dude. Oh, look! There it is."

He gestured to the very top of the highest cupboard, where a corner of the cereal box poked tauntingly out at him. Wash sighed audibly, and with a smirk, Tucker pushed past and cracked his neck.

"C’mere, you boxy bitch," he murmured, hopping up onto his tiptoes and pressing against the bottom row of counters as he stretched up, fingers _just_ brushing the bottom of the box. He stretched higher, feeling the muscles in his back and arms flex in response.

"Do you want to stick your ass out any more?" Wash asked flatly, sounding distinctly unimpressed.

"Hey, it’s either that or have my dick crushed against the counter. I choose _life_." He made a point of wiggling his ass around, but before he could become any more obvious, he almost got a proper grip. "Yeah baby!" he encouraged, and his fingers clasped around the edge of the box, but just before he brought it down he tossed his head over his shoulder and grinned. 

"Am I talented or what?"

He _had_ to look good, shirtless and stretched out before him.

Wash hadn’t moved from where he’d been pushed aside, but his eyes were trained very specifically on Tucker. The shorter man gave him a lascivious wink. What could he say, subtlety wasn’t his game. Satisfied, he fished down the box of cereal, taking his time relaxing his body before finally sauntering over.

"Anything else I can do for you?" he grinned.

After a moment, Wash found his voice. "No, thank you. And for the record, it would have been easier for me to get it. I am, well, taller than you."

Tucker ignored that, focused on Wash’s lack of co-operation with his plan, and frowned. "Nothing at all?"

Wash started to pour his disgusting cereal out and shook his head. Groaning, Tucker hung his head and exited the room, his next plan of action already forming.

"Oh, and put a shirt on!"

Tucker snorted. Yeah, like _that_ was gunna happen.

* * *

 

Slowly, slowly, all military training definitely leading up to this very moment, a certain soldier with a misguided sense of romance gingerly poked his head out of the doorway. The coast was clear, so he moved forward cautiously, eyes and ears at high alert for any sign of Wash.

Empty. Nada. Just how he wanted it.

He muffled a snicker as he tiptoed towards the showering rooms. This was the best plan, ever. Of all time. And _nobody_ could convince him otherwise. He just needed to pull it off.

"Bow chicka bow wow."

Before he entered, he backed out to the kitchen and checked the clock. Quarter to four. Time didn’t really mean anything to him, unless it regarded food, but Wash was obsessed with time management, organisation, all that nerdy stuff. Christ, Tucker could probably whisper those words in his ear and he’d probably pop a boner. Point was, quarter to four meant Wash would be finishing up with his drills soon. So he’d be hot, panting, glistening with sweat…

Getting off track. The _real_ point was, that meant Wash would come in for a shower. Now, Tucker wasn’t enough of a creep to bust in on him naked, like, fuck that, but he _was_ more than happy to be ‘coincidentally’ just getting out of the shower at the same time.

It wasn’t like it was anything Wash hadn’t seen before, even if he was planning on doing it naked. But no, this time, he _would_ wear a towel. Wash would probably just run away otherwise. Because _everyone_ knew people looked really hot when they’d just got out of the shower, when they were wet and flushed and their hair was mussy and all that shit that Tucker knew Wash would notice, because Wash really was an observant motherfucker, even when he didn’t want to be.

Well, Tucker was going to make him notice all the right things.

Ten minutes left.

He ducked into the shower, turning the water onto possibly hotter than he needed because he liked dramatics, okay, and who didn’t look good all hot and steamy? He actually got some washing done, too, because while the main goal of this was to seduce Wash it didn’t mean he could just waste all their hot water like a jackass. So he washed his hair, soaped himself up, tried not to jack off, failed, and got out with a minute to spare.

Trying not to grin, he threw a fluffy towel around his waist and purposefully mussed up his hair in the mirror. He heard footsteps echo down the hall, and after tightening his grip on the towel just in case it was Caboose or something, he opened the door just as the footsteps stopped in front of it.

And came face to face with Wash.

He took a moment to be thankful that it _wasn’t_ Caboose, and promptly smirked up at the man in front of him.

"Wash," he greeted, the picture of innocence. "Fancy seeing you here."

Wash blinked at him.

"How are you going? You look pretty… hot." Tucker purposely drew out the word, letting it roll off his tongue.

"Yeah, not everyone’s listening to your made up vacation day. Some of us are still running drills, you know," Wash replied automatically, but he looked somewhat thrown. "What are you doing?"

"Me?" Tucker grinned. "I was just taking a shower. A nice, steamy shower… The water’s really good, really heated me up."

Was he imaging it, or was Wash blushing?

Tucker leaned forward. "Here, wanna feel?"

Oh yeah, Wash was blushing. Interesting. But the ex-freelancer quickly shook his head and straightened his shoulders. 

"No! _Thank you._ I just want to take a shower."

Tucker had already long known him as a guy to throw his defences up when he was unsure, so he wasn’t worried. But he _was_ interested in the way Wash’s hand had twitched, ever so slightly, when Tucker had made his offer.

"I bet. You must be tired from all that working out."

Wash looked at him again, up and down, but this time it wasn't as nice. "It was the same drills I do every day."

Oh, right. Tucker winced at himself. Smooth. "Yeah, whatever, dude. I don’t pay attention to that shit. But I bet it was really hot out there. Like I said, you look all worked up."

Wash narrowed his eyes. "What are you getting at?"

Tucker flashed him another winning grin. "Nothing, just saying. You don’t mind me calling you hot, right?"

"Uh…" Wash blinked at him. "I’m not entirely sure what—"

"You’re hot," Tucker informed him.

Wash stared at him for a long moment, and Tucker stared right back. Then Wash glared at him. "I don’t have time for this. I need a shower, and you need to get out of my way."

"No, wait, hear me out— I’m being serious!"

"Out. Now."

"You don’t have to— no, wait, Wash—"

Wash had taken to legitimately pushing Tucker out of the bathroom. Tucker had a choice between fighting back or holding onto his towel, and since he could begrudgingly admit he’d probably lose against the stronger man, he chose the easy option and slunk out.

"You could have let me down a little easier!" 

His answer was the bathroom door slamming shut.

"Fuck."

* * *

 

"I’m so excited that you finally decided to let down your defences and invite us all over! It’s going to be _so_ much fun."

"For the last time, Donut, I didn’t invite you over, Tucker did."

"Oh, don’t be such a spoil sport," Donut waved away, refusing to listen to logic — like _Washington_ would actually ever invite him over without being nearly dead first.

Which he wasn’t. He didn’t think. Which begged the question: "And why are you even here?"

"Relaxation day!" Tucker cried, and a moment later he entered the room. "A holiday for everyone to enjoy! Man, who knew Church would have actually done something good. Figures that it'd be only after he died, though."

Wash let that last part slide. _"Relaxing day,_ you said, and it’s not even a real holiday."

"Did you have to invite your whole team over, Donut?" Tucker groaned. "Look at them. Grif and Simmons will just be eating each other’s faces all night, and Sarge will probably try and infiltrate us."

"Ooh, about that…" Donut winced. "He kind of thinks this _is_ an infiltration mission… It was the only way I could get allow us to come! So if you see him going through your stuff, just pretend you didn’t. Please?"

Wash blinked. "That’s… not happening."

"Pretty please?" Donut tried, fluttering his eyelashes.

Tucker huffed a breath. "Sure, anything so you can come over," he said, interrupting whatever Wash was about to say.

The ex-freelancer rounded on him in surprise. "What? Did you just—"

"Wash, c’mon, Donut’s a cool guy, let him have some fun."

"I— what? That’s not—"

"What’s the problem, Wash? You’re not _jealous_ of Donut, are you?"

Wash spluttered even more. " _What?_ That’s not even remotely-"

"You shouldn’t repress your feelings," Donut interrupted.

Wash repressed a groan. "You sound like Doc."

"Yeah, you should… express more, or whatever," Tucker agreed. "Hey, I’m pretty sure I hear Caboose calling me from the kitchen so I’m gunna go—"

"What? Caboose is in the kitchen? Why the hell didn’t you say that?"

With a horrified glance at them both, Wash all but ran for the kitchen, and left Tucker staring after him in frustration.

"Maybe that wasn’t the best excuse," Donut advised, ever the pillar of wisdom and truth. 

Tucker sighed. "Yeah, no shit."

It hadn’t been a lie. Caboose had promised a ‘home made fluffy puff just for the occasion!’ which translated to some sort of food (?), which then translated to disaster, so yeah, Tucker understood why Wash was hurrying away.

But he was meant to let Tucker handle it, so Donut could initiate a conversation in which Wash would realise he was _totally lonely_ and how cold his bed actually was without Tucker in it, and Donut had heard that Tucker was single and maybe kind of interested…

It sounded sad, when put like that, but if Wash wasn’t willing to listen to him, then Tucker was willing to get creative.

"Alright, new plan," he said, staring determinedly at the entrance way to the kitchen. "I’ll go lure Caboose out, and you go corner Wash in the kitchen. You _gotta_ convince him that I’m the best, most handsome, most _attractive_ guy here, which I am, and that every second he’s not with me is a second wasted."

Donut clapped his hands. "This is so exciting! Nobody ever wanted me to play matchmaker back at the base. Or at high school. Especially high school. I guess because I always tried to hook them up with the wrong people. They kept saying it was because I’d slept with all the football team first, and they didn’t want to sleep with someone who’d slept with me—"

"Um—"

"But then they said the same thing about our rival schools football team! Granted, I did sleep with them too, but I bet they were just jealous."

"Donut, what the _fuck?"_

"And don’t even get me started on the cheerleading squad!"

"Dude, no! Wait, cheerleading squad?"

"Yeah!"

"Seriously? You got in with a bunch of hot cheerleaders?"

"Of course! The principal thought it would be good for morale if we had a cheerleading squad, even though we were an all-boys high school—"

"Okay, stop right there," Tucker commanded. "Go to the kitchen, corner Wash, convince him that he’s totally lonely at night and I'm who he needs, whatever. Make shit up, say you did psychology, or Doc rubbed off on you or something- wait, don’t say that. Just convince him!"

"Alright, alright. No need to be so rude. Maybe _you’re_ the one who’s lonely at night."

 _"I am!_ I'm a ball of sexual frustration and loneliness!"Tucker cried. "That’s why we’re _doing_ this!"

"Oh, right," Donut laughed, "okie doke. I’m off now, wish me luck!"

"Good luck," he said flatly, watching as Donut bounced into the kitchen.

He perked his ears and waited till he heard Donut address them. "Oh, _hey_ Caboose, _hey_ Wash, I didn’t expect to see you guys in here!"

He rolled his eyes and moved forward, slinging an arm against the doorway. "Hey Donut, Caboose. Hey, Wash." He fluttered his eyelashes at the confused man before getting to the point. "We're hosting a… colouring competition," he said quickly. "If anybody wants to—"

"Oooh, pick me! I would like to use the colouring sticks, please."

Tucker sighed. "Caboose. What a surprise. Come on, follow me."

"I am so excited," Caboose informed them, following Tucker out into the main room. "I will draw a pony! If you are nice to me, I may even draw you riding the pony, Tucker! And I will also be riding a pony! And Church! And even Mr. Washingtub! We can all ride ponies!"

"Great."

"That is more like it! Also, private Pastry Puff. Not Gruff or Simon, though, and certainly not the mean Sergeant."

"Sure thing, Caboose, whatever."

"I will draw _so many ponies._ Where is this drawing competition? I will win."

Tucker pulled a face. He should have known Caboose would get this excited. "Uh, looks like we might have forgotten the paper, dude, sorry. I guess there isn’t gunna be a… well it was meant to be colouring competition, but there won’t be a drawing competition either… after… all..."

Caboose had stopped abruptly. Tucker started to feel slightly nervous.

"I’m sure you are just playing a mean joke on me, Tucker."

"Uh…"

"I’m sure you would not leave those ponies to be undrawn forever, would you? That would make them very unhappy."

He was turning slowly, turning to face Tucker, and up close, the aqua soldier couldn’t remember why he’d thought this was a good idea. Sometimes, it was easy to forget Caboose was well over six foot and built like a brick shithouse.

This was not one of those times.

"The ponies trusted us to draw them, Tucker. We don’t want to let the ponies down."

Not to mention, he could be fucking creepy.

"Uh, I forgot..." Tucker started, racking his brains for an excuse. "We, uh, don’t have paper, but we have the walls! You can draw on the walls."

Wash would kill him later. Hopefully, after they’d gotten their shit together. No, better yet, they'd get their shit together and Tucker would sex him so good Wash would totally forget about the walls. Now _that_ was a plan.

Caboose brightened. "Excellent! Where are the crayons?"

"I don’t know, dude, you're the only one that uses them, you had them last."

"Oh! That’s right. They’re in the kitchen. I will be right back. Don’t move."

"No, Caboose, wait!"

Caboose showed no intention of stopping. If Donut was convincing Wash that Tucker was seriously down for some intimacy, then they could _not_ be interrupted. Fuck.

"I’ll, uh— how about using the paints?" he called out after him. Caboose stopped just in time and turned slowly.

"Are you pulling a mean trick on me again?"

"No! Swear to God, dude, you can use the paints. All of them. Forever. I _really_ don’t give a shit."

"But Mr Washingtub said—"

"Who cares what Wash said, dude? Listen to me! I’m great."

"But he said if I ever get paint on the walls he’d…" Caboose trailed off, expression pinching in deep thought.

Tucker waited. Eventually, it became clear he wasn’t going to get an answer. "Okay," he said, backing away slowly, "I’m just gunna go—"

"But he can’t do that if I paint on you!" Caboose picked up, but not where he’d left off.

Tucker stopped. "Wait, what?"

"This is the best idea ever!"

And with that Caboose bounded away, heading for wherever they kept the paint supplies. Tucker used his chance to run for the kitchen. _Fuck_ not interrupting them: if Caboose got a hold of him there was even _less_ chance he’d get laid tonight. Zero chance. Negative zero. And that wasn’t even considering anything beyond getting laid, because Tucker would be so humiliated he wouldn’t have a chance at romancing Wash anymore. He bolted into the kitchen and careened to a stop, panting slightly.

"Wash? What the fuck, where’s Donut?"

Wash shrugged, but a smile was tugging at his lips. "Oh, he’s around, I’m sure."

Tucker groaned, turned and ran for the main room. "Donut! Donut, where the fuck _are—_ "

"I’m right here!" Donut interrupted, waving him down from where he was sitting next to Grif and Simmons on the couch. They were, as expected, engrossed in each other.

"Dude, how’d it go?" Tucker asked, leaning forward and putting his hands on his knees.

"Uh… not very well." Donut rubbed the back of his neck and looked around, before grabbing Tucker by the forearm and pulling him out of hearing distance of Grif and Simmons, who were peering at them suspiciously. "It was going well until the part where I suggested _who_ he could possibly… talk to… about 'not being lonely'. Which, by the way, he said he wasn't, and—"

"Yeah, get to the point," Tucker whined, moving his hand rapidly in little circles for emphasis. Caboose would be back soon, and if he caught Tucker off guard…

"Well, he seemed to take it the wrong way. He thought it was _me_ expressing interest, and not only that, he thought I was coming onto him!"

"What? Why aren’t you kicked out the base?"

"He, uh. He told me to radio him... sometime?" Donut admitted, a blush tinting his freckled cheeks.

Tucker stared at him. "He _what?"_

"I have no idea how it happened! One moment I was saying that it’s really important to make sure you don’t allow emotions and physical reactions to bottle up, and the next he was up in my space and offering me to call him!"

"Donut! What the fuck did you say to him?"

"Just that he looked really tense, and if he wanted a massage I was _really_ good with my hands—"

"What the fuck, dude?"

"What? I am! I’ll show you if you want!"

"God, no!"

"Anyway, and he said I looked like I knew how to use them, and I said I’d had lots of experience—"

"I’m seriously going to kill you." Tucker put his head in his hands and tried not to take his sword and go find something for target practice. Definitely not something pink. Definitely not something _annoying_.

"What?" Donut honestly looked distressed.

There was no way he didn’t understand the double entendre. No fucking _way._  

"And then he said I should call him over the radio and we could organise a time that I could show him how good I was, and that’s when I _knew_ something was up."

Tucker gaped at him.

" _That's_ when?"

"So I asked if he was suggesting what I thought he was suggesting, and he winked at me and said that we could organise it right now, if I wanted! Any other time I would have said yes, of course, but—"

"I called dibs," Tucker inserted automatically.

Donut glared at him. " _But_ I knew you already have feelings for him, and so I got out of there as soon as I could!"

"Did you get the number to his private channel first?" Tucker asked flatly.

Donut flushed a bright pink and reluctantly handed him a small piece of paper with a hastily scribbled code. "Sorry. Just if you guys didn’t work out-"

"You are the _worst—"_

And just as if to make everything infinitely more awful, Caboose pelted into the room and made a beeline right for Tucker.

"Tucker! The ponies are ready to be painted!"

With a look of horror, Tucker turned and tried to run, but it was far too late. Caboose grabbed him by the middle and hefted him onto his shoulder easily.

Tucker screeched. "No, wait, put me down! Help! Donut!"

Donut made a show of pretending not to hear him. It was easier for a boy who was deaf in one ear, but not good enough.

"Wait, just—"

"You will be the perfect candidate for the ponies to live on!"

"Somebody help me! Simmons! Grif! Sarge?"

Everybody avoided his eye, and Tucker slumped against Caboose’s back as the massive man bounced out of the room.

"Assholes."

* * *

 

"Well," Wash started, sometime later, and Tucker immediately knew he’d hate the next words to come out of his mouth. "You’re looking… decorative."

Tucker didn’t even need to glance down, but he did anyway, and red base probably heard the groan he emitted as he lurched nauseatingly to his feet.

"Goddamn. I hate Caboose so damn much."

"Actually," Wash knelt next to him, "it says here 'Tucker and Caboose, friends for life,' and friends is spelt 'f-r-e-n-d-s', and life is spelt—"

"I don’t fucking care how it’s spelt! Help me wash it off!"

His yell was immediately followed by a groan of pain, as he winced and groped blindly at his head.

Wash made no effort to conceal his smirk. "I think you’re perfectly capable of getting it off yourself."

His tone was smug, perfectly matching his expesssion, but they died away in tandem when Tucker leaned forward and promptly threw up in front of his bare feet. With reflexes reflecting his years of training, Wash caught him, and lowered him to a clean patch of floor.

"What’s wrong? Are you sick?"

"No," Tucker groaned, rubbing his forehead uselessly, "I think Caboose slammed my head in the doorframe last night when he went to go show you his 'artwork'. I just remember a lot of spinning lights and I think he sang me a lullaby."

"Cute."

"Seriously… I got hit pretty hard. I was knocked out for a while."

Wash leaned in and peeled his eyelid back. "Follow my finger."

"Only if you take it down to my belt—"

" _Tucker."_

"Alright. Jeesh," he complained, but his words were slightly slurred and he was having trouble focusing.

"Yeah, you’re looking… Look here." Tucker blinked at him confusedly. "Hm." Wash frowned. "You’re concussed. Nothing major, but you get to stay in bed all day. Yay you."

Tucker managed a smile up at him. "You gunna get in there with me?"

Wash just sighed. "Come on, let’s get you into bed."

"Why am I half naked? I mean, I’m not complaining…" he trailed off at the look Wash gave him, groaning when he got hauled to his feet.

"Caboose undressed you. He did use your shirt as a pillow for you, but I think the main reason was so that he could have more room to paint."

"Oh, come on," Tucker groaned, his head lolling slightly. Wash frowned. "My chance to get lucky and it was fucking _Caboose_ who undressed me. Go fucking figure. I swear, if there are ponies on my fucking ballsack I'm going to-"

"Who else would it be?" Wash interrupted, humouring him as he pulled Tucker towards his bedroom. "I think you missed your chance with Donut last night."

"You’re hilarious," Tucker sighed, but he was starting to fall asleep, even on his feet.

Wash didn’t respond, instead choosing to balance Tucker as he pulled the bed sheets back. He gently pushed him onto the mattress, but when he lifted him to adjust him slightly he realised the problem.

"This goddamn paint… hold on, we’re going to get you in a shower."

Tucker didn’t seem to hear him. "So, you and Donut, hey?"

There was a moment where Wash nearly dropped him. "What?" But a second later, it clicked. "Oh, no." He started to laugh. "God, no."

"Then why…?"

"I wanted to see what he would do. He backed off, so obviously there’s some ulterior motive I’ve yet to figure out. Undoubtedly involving you."

"Why’sat?"

"Because before he ran away he mentioned something about 'not telling Tucker'. The code I gave him was fake, by the way."

"Oh. Hey, why are we in the bathroom?"

Wash shook his head, leaning Tucker against the bathroom wall. "Stay awake, but don’t panic. I’ve got to get your pants off." He began to tug at them before he paused. "You _are_ wearing underpants, right?"

Tucker blinked at him in the weak light. "Uh, I think so. Boxers. Maybe. I can do something nicer. I can do lacy, if you want."

Wash raised an eyebrow and decided to let that go, even as his mind categorised it for analysing later.

" _Alright_. They’re staying on. Don’t freak out."

He slid Tucker’s pants past his knees and over his feet before reaching into the shower and twisting the knobs, aiming for a decent temperature despite his temptation to make it freezing cold. Tucker was actually injured, for once, not just _sensitive nipples_ or _sore abs._

"Where’s Caboose?"

Good question. Hopefully not breaking anything important, that was all Wash could hope. He didn’t answer, instead reaching down to lift Tucker gently up and lead him into the spray.

"You’re getting wet," Tucker said, but instead of concern, he was laughing at him.

Wash could have dragged him under the shower and soaked his pants, but he hadn’t. He could have dumped him in bed and made him clean the mess of paint up later, but he hadn’t. Or, better yet, he could have left him half naked, shivering and covered in paint on Caboose’s floor. But he hadn’t.

Never let it be said Wash didn’t have a kind streak.

He did turn the water to cold, though. 

Tucker whined at him as Wash scrubbed the paint off, and he ended up turning the heat back up purely for the cleansing properties. When he was decently clean Wash pulled him out and turned the water off, wrapping him in a towel and all but carrying him back to the room. 

"Can I sleep yet?" Tucker asked.

Wash sighed. "You complain so—"

"Wash, I’m sleepy."

Wash paused. That was actually kind of cute. Tucker was peering up at him through drooping eyelids, lips drawn into a pout as he tried to sink into the soft bedding. 

"Not yet," he replied, grabbing a shirt and looking at Tucker. "I’ve gotta get this on. Like, over the head… yeah, now just lift your arm— no, your other arm, now turn so— _no_ — oh my god, let me do it. You’re worse than Caboose."

Tucker just let his body go lax and his eyes drift shut.

Wash squinted at him. With a sigh, he managed to get the shirt over Tucker’s head, and finally he settled him under the covers. Looking over him, already asleep, Wash shook his head, fought down a smile, and went to go clean up blue base.

 

* * *

 

"I’m looking at you in bed next to me, but you’re not naked. Neither am I, for that fact."

Wash was dragged from sleep by Tucker. His mind had already assessed possible threat levels and discerned there were none (except from him if Tucker didn’t shut up), so he was taking his time adjusting properly to awake.

"…What?" he finally asked, glaring at the man opposite.

"See, half of this is good, but half of it— the main half, the _we’re not meant to be wearing clothes_ half, isn’t."

"What? No— nothing happened." Wash sat up, taking in how Tucker was propped up on one elbow and waggling an eyebrow at him. "Feeling better, I assume?"

"Uh, yeah, apart from where you kept waking me the fuck up. Wait, what? Why were you waking me up? Why are we in bed together? I mean, I’m not complaining, but if I find out we fucked and I wasn’t even properly awake for it then I’m gunna be pissed."

Patiently, Wash waited for him to finish. "Are you done?"

"No, man! Did we bang? Why are we wearing clothes? And why the fuck does my head hurt?"

"Caboose hit your head at some point the other night, and you developed a concussion. You’re in bed because I put you here, and I’m next to you because I had to keep watch over you so I could wake you up every four hours and make sure you weren’t dead. Happy?"

"So Caboose banged me? Gross."

"Tucker." Wash’s voice was flat.

"Why are you in bed with me?" Tucker’s voice was insistent.

"Because I was tired, too. I only dozed off about three hours ago. I spent other time cleaning up after you, for example. So, I’m sorry if my sleeping in the same vicinity as you is disturbing you." Wash's tone dripped with sarcasm, and a flat undertone of annoyance accompanied it.

"I just don’t get why—"

"You. Concussion. Paint. Showered. Bed. Four hour wake ups. Understand?"

Tucker glared at him. "Hey, fuck you. I— wait."

Wash raised an eyebrow. "What?"

"Showered? You _showered_ me?" Wash opened his mouth but didn’t get to speak. "Oh my god, are you fucking _kidding_ me?"

He frowned. "You were decent. But if I’d have known it would have been this big of a deal I wouldn’t have done it. I’m sorry."

"No, dude!" Tucker groaned. "You can shower me anytime. Bow chicka bow wow. But seriously, I wasn’t even fucking awake?"

"Technically you were, you just don’t remember it. Also, you’re still slightly concussed," Wash corrected.

"That’s even worse!" Tucker flopped onto the bed.

"I don’t understand."

"Oh, my god, get out of my room!"

Wash stood, still frowning at him. "You sound like a five year old. What’s the problem?"

Well, Tucker had no idea how to make it more obvious to Wash that he was interested in him, and he felt like he’d missed out on a prime opportunity. That was fucking what. Apparently he’d been silent for too long, because Wash moved cautiously back and sat next to him on the bed.

"What’s up?" 

Tucker rolled to face the other direction. "Nothing."

"You’re being petulant."

"I don’t even know what that _means_."

Wash sighed. "I can’t help you if I don’t know what the problem is."

Tucker groaned. But even as he groaned, his brain was beginning to work, thoughts and ideas ghosting through the forefront of his mind.

Wash… his bed…

"Tucker?"

Tucker…bed…

The elaborate plan came together. Tucker realised he’d rolled over and was staring at Wash. Wash was staring back.

"Are you okay?"

Alright, Wash was _frowning_ back. But whatever, he was always frowning, Tucker could work with that.

"Huh? Yeah, I’m _fine."_

Wash looked confused. "Okay. You just zoned out."

"What can I say?" Tucker asked nonchalantly, stretching up and letting his arm hit the pillow next to Wash. "I got distracted."

"By nothing?" Wash asked incredulously, starting to get up. "You need to get up, get some food and water into you—"

"I wouldn’t say that," Tucker interrupted, grinning. "I think _you’re_ pretty distracting."

Wash actually paused. "What?"

Tucker raised his arms above his head and stretched innocently, inconspicuously pulling down the covers with his foot as his shirt rode up.

"You. You’re distracting."

Wash was trying not to pay too much attention. "We can talk about this late. Right now, you’re dehydrated and-"

"I’m fine." Tucker waved it away. "Don’t you want to know why you’re distracting?"

With a sigh, he sat back down. "I would love nothing more. Go on, enlighten me."

Tucker leaned back again, raised an eyebrow.

"You’re hot."

Wash tried not to show the way his body tensed, but he was a second too late and Tucker saw it. He waited a moment as Wash blinked a few times and finally turned his gaze to Tucker.

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me. It’s because you’re hot. I mean, I’ve told you before, but you didn’t listen."

Wash shook his head and backed up, suspicion in his eyes. "What are you getting at?"

"You’re banging. Hot. Smoking. I want to fuck you, amongst other things."

There. _That_ had to be clear. Tucker’s intentions were out, plain and simple.

Finally, Wash stopped completely. He _stared._ Pleased with how he’d finally gotten a proper reaction out of the ex-freelancer, Tucker leaned forward.

"I’ve been trying to get that through your thick skull for weeks now. Seriously, dude, it’s like you’re the most oblivious guy, ever. Like, I could have flashed a neon sign and you wouldn’t have realised."

Wash was still staring. Tucker rolled his eyes. "Dude, did I break you?"

Looking very unimpressed and more bordering on annoyed, Wash shook his head.

"No, I’m just waiting to hear the punchline."

Tucker heaved the most dramatic sigh he could, but he straightened completely and looked Wash in the eye.

"Look. To elaborate on this scenario, right here right now, in the simplest way to say this, I’m dead serious. I really, _really_ want to have sex with you."

"This has got to be the _worst_ attempt I’ve ever seen!" Wash was incredulous.

"It’s not my fault you suck at picking up cues, dude! I’ve totally told you I want to get with you, I’m interested in you, and I want to have sex with you, I’ve said it in all the ways I know, dead straight, at least five times!"

"I thought you were joking!"

"I cornered you in the bathroom and told you that you were hot!"

"That is _not_ a legitimate attempt! If anything, that would accomplish the  _opposite_ of what you were aiming for—"

"Works on all the other people I’ve tried it on!"

"Oh, all _zero_ of them?"

Both of them were standing now, like they were actually arguing about something important. Tucker could read the defensiveness in Wash’s stance and hated how badly this was going, but for once, he had no backup plan for this.

He could just walk over and kiss him. He imagined it. Just taking Wash by surprise, just feeling him go slack until he found his ground and started kissing back. It was totally Tucker’s style.

But it wasn’t Wash’s, and it wouldn’t work like that. Wash was an ex-freelancer — if Tucker tried to do something that invasive, chances are he’d end up on the ground with a bleeding mouth and a ruined relationship and wow, he didn’t realise that he might have been ruining his chances of _anything_ with Wash this whole time.

His mouth dropped into an 'o', but the other man was already turning away. Tucker took a deep breath, trying to hold onto this foreign train of thought that said maybe being totally overtly sexual wasn’t going to work this time. Even though it had totally always worked before.

He could see the problem now. He’d been going about this his way, but he needed to be playing it by Wash’s. Wash was staring at him again, waiting in the doorway for an answer to something Tucker hadn’t heard him say, too wrapped up in his thoughts to formulate a response. 

Tucker licked his lips. "Wash," he said quietly. Washington tilted his head slightly, waiting. "I’m not just saying this to get in your pants," he started.

"Alright, stop right there. I’m not interested."

"Hey — wait, no, I just had an epiphany, I still need to win you over!"

"I don’t care," Wash reiterated, voice flat. He moved once more to leave, and Tucker floundered, searching desperately for a way to make him stay.

"But — I totally just realised how _wrong_ I was! I’ve been going about this all wrong!" When he saw Wash turn slowly back to face him, he was filled with hope. "Like, _super_ wrong!"

It was evident that Wash was torn between leaving and giving Tucker a chance to explain. Evidently, for whatever godforsaken reason, he hesitated, and finally moved a few steps back into the room, waiting.

"Okay, like — I was trying to bone you by _my_ rules, see — but I’m _all_ for playing by yours. Just say it how you want it!"

The look Washington gave him could only be described as _disappointed_ , and Tucker actually had to stop for a second, floored, before he started searching for what he said wrong.

When he came up blank, he asked tentatively, "Did I say something wrong?"

This time Wash didn’t even bother answering him. He walked out the door, and the sound of his boots clanking down the hallway sounded louder and more final than it had any right to be. For a moment, Tucker froze, watching him leave, but as soon as he was out of sight Tucker was scrambling after him. ‘Wait!’ he cried, trying to kick away the sheet that remained wrapped around his ankle tangled around his ankle. He failed, landing on the floor with a heavy _oomph,_ but seconds later he was back on his feet and racing after Wash.

He hadn’t made it far, only to the main room, and Tucker quickly ran around him and skidded to a stop, barring his way.

"Wash," he said. Wash moved to push past, but he didn’t put any force into it, or Tucker would have been flat on the floor by now. That served as encouragement.

"Okay, look, I don’t know what the fuck to say, and it seems like everything I try to say is wrong, so how about you just tell me what I’m doing wrong and we can work from there." His words came out in a rush, the desperation that was crawling up his throat tinging the words so clearly that Wash hesitated, and Tucker let out a relieved sigh.

"Seriously, I'm ready to just give up, like, on trying to talk to you, because everything seems to come across wrong!"

Wash shook his head. "What?"

"Uh, I don’t want to say anything here, cos it’ll probably be, y’know, wrong?"

"Since when do you care if what you say is potentially _wrong_ or _right_?"

"Since you walked out of my room just now, after giving me the world's scariest look?" Tucker shivered. "I’m sorry, dude, whatever I said, I didn’t mean to like... you know..."

Wash was trying to think of any look he’d given him besides purposeful apathy, and he could only think of one thing.

"Disappointment?" he asked, incredulous.

"Yeah! Damn, it was worse than the time I accidentally stepped on Caboose’s pet snail!"

"I... really?"

"Huh? Yeah!"

Now Tucker was confused.

"You’ve _never_ cared about whether I was disappointed in you or not," Wash clarified. His face was impassive, but the smallest furrow of his brow gave away his confusion.

"Well, if it’s something unimportant like training and drills, pfft, who cares? But that was important!" Tucker tried to impress it on him, expressive hand gestures and all.

"Oh. Of course, I should have known."

"There’s that fucking look again! What was that? What the fuck did I say?"

Wash let out a long sigh. "I’d tell you to think about it, but the worst part is I honestly don’t think you know what you’re doing."

"No!" Tucker shouted, " _I don't!_  But I’m askin’!"

"How about I just point out all the things you do wrong. For example, don’t attempt to flounce around naked all the time. That’s step one. Step two, in close quarters such as this, a smarter person would generally realise that two people together like that would be a bad idea."

Tucker’s brow was furrowed, and he looked deep in thought. Wash wondered if he honestly understood what he was saying, but before he could ask in the most sarcastic possible manner, Tucker lit up. 

"Alright! You want courteous, I’ll be courteous as shit!"

Wash snorted, unable to help himself, but Tucker had an amazing ability to tune out what he didn’t want to hear and focus on what he did.

He continued, "I’ll be a _total_ gentleman. Rose petals, take you on dates, you name it."

"Generally, _courteous as shit_ doesn’t speak much for— wait, excuse me?"

"Yeah! I’d pay for dinner if that was a thing, um..." Tucker racked his brains, trying to think of something Simmons would do for Grif, or Donut did in general, but then realised they weren’t the best people to look towards for guidance, so gave up with a shrug. "Like I said, you name it."

"I’ve never seen anybody so determined to have sex before," Wash said drily, but his mind was racing, trying to make sense of something that seemed incomprehensible.

Tucker shrugged again, this time more hesitantly. "Sex can come later, if you want?" He stopped and looked so worried for a moment that Wash almost asked him what was wrong, but before he could, Tucker nervously met his eyes. "If you're into that, that is...?" 

"I—" Wash paused, scrambling to catch up. "What if I wasn’t?" he asked defensively, buying time, trying to understand.

"Well — shit, I mean... I— I’m a cuddler, and like, you look like you need a hug, like, _always_ , so..."

Wash's mind was shortcircuiting. "Rose petals. Dates. Cuddling. You’re talking about more than sex."

Tucker didn’t even hesitate. "No shit! I mean, you’ll probably laugh at me, but I’m not a complete cunt, so if sex isn’t completely your style, I mean... Well, I’ve been jacking off for years anyway? It wouldn't be the end of the world."

"I can’t believe this." Wash stared at him. "Are you trying to romance me?"

" _Yes,"_  Tucker groaned. "You really didn't realise?"

"... Really? This whole time? This isn’t a horrible cover you came up with just now to disguise your poor attempts at trying to sleep with me?"

Tucker took a step back. "Shit, man," he said, "that was pretty fucking low."

"No, I don’t— Jesus." Scrubbing at his face, Wash tried again. "Alright, that sounded worse than I intended. I apologise. That’s not how I meant it."

"Whatever," Tucker said, but he rolled his eyes and let it slide. "Not like I haven’t said shit that gets misconstrued in like, the worst possible manner. Like, this entire time, for example." He sighed. "That was my best romancing game."

"Romancing," Wash repeated. "Are... you're definitely sure?"

"Oh, my god. What do I have to do to get this through your head? Alright, look, if the past few weeks haven’t been enough to show you that I’m serious, I don’t know what I’m meant to do."

"You mean... Literally showing yourself naked at every opportunity?"

Tucker nodded vigorously. "And I was nice! ...—er, than usual! I stopped Caboose leaving mustard in _your_ sheets, didn’t I?"

"That was you?"

"Uh, who else would it be? Also, I got your cereal for you—"

"You probably hid it, too."

"Whatever! Specifically so I could swoop in and you’d notice not only how hot I am, but also how nice and gentlemanly I was!"

All logical reasoning aside, he had a point. Slowly, Wash moved to the couch and sunk down on it.

"You want to do more than sleep with me."

"Well... Unless you don’t want it. I’m not an asshole, you know. There’s other stuff we could do, I’m sure. I’ve never needed to do it, but I guess with you, it wouldn’t be so bad."

He ducked his head.

Wow. That was actually really sweet. Not that Wash would admit it.

Instead, since he was an asshole, he asked, "Other stuff being?"

Tucker shrugged. "I don’t know, more bed sharing? And kissing? And physical intimacy in general? _Romance?_  You’re making me sound so gay, dude."

"You do realise that it’s—"

"Yes, Wash, I realise it's  _gay."_

Wash put his hands up in a placating manner. "Alright. Let me get this straight."

Tucker sighed and sat down next to him, waiting for him to run over the events and ask for clarification. When Wash was silent, Tucker eyed him, but stayed quiet himself, figuring he just needed to get it into a managable order so he could get his head around it before probably subjecting Tucker to more talking and probably humiliation.

He sunk lower in his seat. _Great._

"Yes," Wash said.

"I— what?" Tucker dragged himself more upright. "Yes what?"

"Yes to whatever you’re proposing in terms of furthering our relationship." When Tucker made a face, Wash intervened. "It’s what it is, is it not? It’s progressed beyond friendship."

"Uh, has it?"

In response, Wash gestured around him. "What else was the point of all this?"

After a moment, Tucker lit up. "Oh! Shit! Ohoho, _shit_ , are you serious? We get to bang? And I get to kiss you and shit? Whenever I want, like, for real?"

Wash looked shocked into silence, but then he nodded, swallowing down the urge to make a sarcastic remark. "If that’s—"

"Fuck yes that's what I want to do, Wash!"

Tucker proceeded to launch himself onto him. He didn’t think it through, and he realised later that if he’d ended up with another concussion he probably wouldn’t have been too surprised, but amazingly, Wash let him, and they fell back onto the couch to the sound of Tucker’s laughter.

"Wow, talking actually did some shit, for once."

"Amazing. Communication can achieve things that should generally be resolved by communication."

Tucker frowned at him. "Dude, shut up. We’re getting totally homo and you’re still being a sarcastic shit." 

Wash frowned right back.

"We aren’t having sex right here."

"Who said anything about sex? I can actually touch you, that’s pretty damn good to me."

"Now look who’s getting “totally homo”," Wash remarked, but he felt his chinks tinge red.

"Us. Who cares dude, don’t be so homophobic, get with the times."

He knew Wash would try and make a comeback for that — hell, the dude probably already had one ready, so before he could say it and show him up, Tucker kissed him. 

It was brief, but surprisingly sweet, and for Wash that seemed to speak volumes. He realised there might actually be a whole new side to Tucker that could say more than words could.

When they pulled apart, Tucker flashed a dazzling smile at him.

"So, I mean, is banging on the table?" Tucker asked, sounding ridiculously tentative despite that he was still an inch away from Wash and his lips were wet from kissing him. "I mean, I won’t push it if it’s not, but it’s worth asking, right?"

"I’m not sure about the actual _table_ ," Wash murmured.

A long moment later, Tucker groaned, loudly. "Oh no," he said, shaking his head. "I’ve made a horrible mistake, haven’t I."

He was met by an honest to god _grin,_ lighting up Wash’s face like nothing else. "Well, I guess we’re going to find out."

"Shit, yeah," Tucker breathed, meeting his eyes. "I’m down for that."


End file.
